Orion's Gift

By Anneli Purchase

Two people running from abusive relationships meet by chance in Mexico’s Baja peninsula. It seems like love at first sight, but there are secrets each one is not telling the other. Will their new love be strong enough to withstand the determined pursuit by their spouses who want them back for less than noble reasons?
Orion’s Gift will have you wondering if the seemingly star-crossed lovers will be able to beat the odds stacked against them and stay together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anneli Purchase
• Release date: Aug 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9780987808943

Anneli Purchase

Anneli Purchase lives on Vancouver Island where she works as an author and a freelance copy-editor. Her articles on coastal life have appeared in Canadian and UK magazines. She has published five novels (The Wind Weeps and its sequel Reckoning Tide, Orion's Gift, Julia's Violinist, and Marlie).

Book preview

Chapter 1: Sylvia

They say ignorance is bliss. I can vouch for that. My life was humming along just fine until I received that letter. Afterwards, nothing was the same.

I flipped the envelope front to back looking for clues to its content. When I saw the return address, my mouth felt dry. It was too soon. My hands trembled as I unlocked the front door. On my way to the bedroom to get changed after my morning run, I tore open the envelope.

As I read, I forgot to breathe. Dazed, I threw myself onto the unmade bed. Clutching the blankets, I hugged my knees and stared at the wall, my chest so tight I thought I’d pass out. I didn’t recognize the moaning wail as a sound that could have come from me. Gut-wrenching sobs followed. My mind raced with wild incredulous thoughts. It can’t be true. It has to be a mistake.

My throat ached from crying and my sinuses were so swollen I could hardly breathe. I had to stop blubbering. Feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t change anything. Useless waste of precious time. I had to pull myself together.

I stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water. My eyes felt puffy and glued shut, but a glimpse of the clock forced them open.

Oh, shit. I’m going to be late for work. I hurried back to the bedroom and made the mistake of looking at the dresser mirror. And I look like hell. I threw off my sweats, and jumped into the shower.

Thank God Joel had already left for work. It wouldn’t do for him to see me like this, puffy-eyed from crying, and perspiring after my run. He had no sympathy for tears and he wasn’t one to appreciate the natural look—didn’t like his girls sweaty unless it was from a lengthy session in bed. His girls! Hah! Why the plural? I had my suspicions, but what could I do? I was lucky to have him. Lucky he stayed with me. Tall, handsome, getting richer by the minute at his real estate job; most women would consider him a good catch. But would he stay with me now if he knew?

I rushed to dry my hair and style it, threw the blow-dryer down, slapped moisturizing cream on my face, and brushed my teeth. Panic threatened to take over again. I’d always been on time. The boss frowned on employees arriving late. I didn’t know why I still cared. Did it really matter anymore? Did anything?

I stepped into a cool blue-green summer dress and sandals. Grabbing my keys I was off. No! I hurried back to make the bed. What would Joel think if he came home to that mess? Come to think of it, the kitchen needed a quick cleanup. I hadn’t had time for breakfast, but Joel’s dishes still littered the table. Quick! Into the dishwasher, wipe the crumbs off the island, fold up the newspaper, unplug the coffeemaker and give the carafe a rinse. Oh, hurry! I shouldn’t have taken that time to feel sorry for myself.

I loved Joel. I always knocked myself out to please him. Wish he’d do the same for me. I still didn’t know what he ever saw in me. Funny! That was exactly what he often said—Don’t know what I ever saw in you. And when he saw the hurt on my face, he’d add, Must have been something really special, ’cause I’m still here. Then I worked my butt off to make him see it was worth his while to keep me around. I kept the house sparkling clean, made gourmet meals, gave him whatever he wanted in bed. I made sure I pleased him.

My mother always said I was pretty—long legs, good skin, shiny ash-blond hair—but mothers always say that. Joel says he loves my flashy smile and the four freckles on my ski-jump nose. People say I turn heads. I guess I look good, but wish I was smarter. I did okay in school, but I didn’t take home any prizes or scholarships. Pretty? Smart? What did that matter now?

I had about ten minutes to get to Goodridge. The girls in the office called it Get-Rich. Problem was that only the lawyers got rich. Clerks like me never got more than puny little wages.

On the way out I saw the offending letter on the dining room table. I snatched it up and clutched it to my chest. That would have been a big mistake, leaving it there for Joel to see.

*****

I slammed my Acura into reverse and screeched out the driveway. It was only a ten-minute drive from our Chula Vista subdivision to the small business center that housed the Goodridge Law Firm. With a little luck I might be on time for work after all—barely.

Hi Sylvia, Wendy greeted me. Dark brown curls cascaded down the front of her blouse on either side of a plunging neckline. Whoa! What happened to you? Did you and Joel have another fight? You’ve been crying! She stared at me, apparently expecting an explanation.

Sh-sh! I put my finger to my lips and shook my head. The last thing I needed was the whole office wondering about my puffy eyes and asking questions.

Well, you know where I am if you need to talk. Wendy was great for listening and not spreading gossip. I considered her a good friend, but I wasn’t ready to share this bad news with anyone—not yet—maybe not ever.

I nodded and mouthed, Thanks. I kept my head down as I typed and answered the phone. Wendy glanced over my way several times, but didn’t intrude, bless her. I managed to look as if I were working, but I was only going through the motions. As I slapped address labels onto letters for today’s mail, I made a plan. At lunch I left before Wendy could question me or suggest we grab a bite together. I parked nearby and watched until the last person had left the office. Then I hurried back inside.

I scribbled a hasty note to Mr. Goodridge and left it on his desk. On a sheet of office stationery, I handwrote a quick letter, tucked it into an envelope, and placed it in my purse to deliver later. I had no personal items in my desk. No need to clean it out. I slapped a sticky note with my hotmail address on Wendy’s computer monitor. Then I left the office, never to return.

My mind formulated the next steps as I drove. I could make some arrangements at the Bank of America and still have time to gather what I needed from the house before Joel came home and noticed that his supper wasn’t on the table waiting for him.

At the bank, I took out exactly half our joint savings in a money order. I wanted to be fair, so I didn’t take a penny more than I felt I had a right to. I transferred the bulk of the rest of the savings account to our chequing account. Then I drove to the First National Bank where I opened an account in my name only and deposited the money order. I now had sole access to a substantial sum. With my new debit card I could withdraw cash at any time.

I slowed to a stop in front of a richly landscaped yard with a pale yellow stucco house—home of Sylvia and Joel Johnson, soon to be Joel’s alone. No need to park in the garage. I wouldn’t be long packing my things. I threw my cosmetics and toiletry items into one bag and a few clothes into the second. As an afterthought, I dug out my sleeping bag and a pillow. Who knew where I would end up spending the night? That got me thinking. Maybe I should take along a couple of my favorite dresses. You never knew when you might need to look your best. I’d learned that looking good helped open doors.

I flipped through the hangers of my closet and groaned at the thought of leaving so many beautiful outfits behind. A soft V-neck shift of cadmium red beckoned to me. I pressed it to my cheek and decided that I had to take it. And what about that cream-colored linen blazer to go with it? You’re coming with me too. And this peacock swirl patterned dress. Joel said I looked hot in that one. What an evening that was. He could hardly keep his hands off me. But that was early days. Now the bastard can’t keep his hands off anything in a skirt. I threw the dress into my bag anyway.

I floated down the stairs, trailing my fingers on the banister. My eyes scanned the tastefully decorated open area living room. Was I doing the right thing? Would I miss spending time in this house? I wasn’t sure. I only knew I had to go. I couldn’t count on my husband.

In the kitchen, I opened my purse and took out the letter I’d written at the office. I stood it up in the fridge where Joel would be sure to find it. He would be shocked when he read it. I would have felt sorry for him, but I had enough troubles of my own.

*****

The Volkswagen dealer was happy to show me the newest camper van he had in stock. He must have thought it was his lucky day when I took out my cheque book—well, Joel’s and mine. Joel was going to pay for my van from his half of the account, even though he didn’t know it yet. It would be his gift to me while I gave him my share of our house. That would still leave him many hundreds of thousands ahead. Not fair to me at all, but what could I do? It was more important for me to get away right now.

I told the car salesman I’d agree to a reasonable trade-in value for my Acura without any dickering if I could drive away in the VW camper within the hour. Maybe he could tell I’d been crying and felt sorry for me—I don’t know—but he gave me a good deal. While the mechanics did a final check on the van, I bought insurance and took care of the registration and plates. Less than an hour later, I transferred my gear from the trunk of the Acura and rolled out of the Volkswagen dealership in my new forest green camper van.

It felt weird to sit up so high looking down on the road and other cars. The steering wheel lay almost flat, not tilted. It had been a while since I’d driven a standard and I hadn’t thought it was going to be so hard to make the switch. For that matter, I hadn’t considered it at all, so I was surprised at how often I messed up.

A few people who drove past sent dirty looks my way when I ground the gears and lurched along. Any sudden stops resulted in a stall when I forgot to push in the clutch. At several traffic lights, impatient drivers honked at me while I restarted the engine. One old geezer gave me the finger and sneered at me, but somehow I didn’t give a damn. I just tuned them out. I had to get used to driving this camper van in a hurry, and it was better to do it while I still had a bit of daylight. I made my way to a local campsite and paid up. It took me several tries to back the van into a space between the palms, but once I managed to park for the night, it was a huge relief to shut off the engine.

It had been years since I’d done any camping. I had fond memories of low-budget holidays with my mother when I was a kid. She was a single mom. I was her life, and she was mine, until she died of a brain aneurysm when I was twenty. She taught me to live a healthy lifestyle and love nature. Camping was one of the cheapest ways to appreciate both of those things.

Date palms on either side of my camping spot provided a pleasant mix of sun and shade. On the bed in the back of the camper, I spread out my sleeping bag and pillow. I got out my notepad and a pen and crawled onto the bed. Sitting propped up against the pillow, I let my mind go back to the days of camping with my mother. As I relived some of those camping trips, I jotted down a list of the supplies she had brought along—things that I had helped load into our rusty Malibu in preparation for our adventures.

Tomorrow I would use my list to shop for the necessities someplace on the other side of San Diego where I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew. I had to choose my equipment carefully. I had limited space and would be gone a long time.

Oh Lord, what was I doing? Rushing headlong into disaster? I had a comfortable modern home, no debt, a handsome husband, a good job. That was a lot to throw away in such a hurry. I must be crazy to act so rashly. But when I tried to reason out my options, I always came back to the same bottom line. I had to leave. I knew Joel wouldn’t stand by me when times were tough, and this was going to be tough. Joel was so hung up on having a good-looking girl on his arm, he would never be able to handle the changes that lay ahead. He was selfish. Needed me to do everything for him.

If I couldn’t wait on him because I had the flu or a cold, he would be in a foul mood until I was back on my feet. I hate it when you’re sick, he always said. At first I thought it was because he worried about me, but then he complained. Nothing to eat around here. I’m going out to grab a bite. I was so relieved when he stopped grumbling and left the house that it didn’t occur to me until much later that he hadn’t asked if I needed anything or if I was hungry. I’d been in denial about his faults all these years. Not anymore.

Still, I knew he’d send out a search party for me. He’d think that I’d deserted him, which I had. But the reason for sending the search party wouldn’t be because something might have happened to me; it was more a case of wanting to recover his property—me and his money—and his macho pride. He was very possessive. Funny, I used to be flattered by that.

What I needed was a man who would be by my side every step of the way. One who’d love me no matter what. I guess I’d known all along that what Joel and I had had these past five years was superficial. And now? Well, I didn’t want his rejection. I’d rather run than be tossed away like garbage.

Chapter 2: Joel

I pushed the remote and waited till the door was all the way up. Oh, perfect. There’s Brenda at her window next door. I revved the engine, flashed my pearly whites, and gave her a little wave. Pathetic to see her face light up like that. If you shed a few pounds and got a makeover I’d consider a little afternoon romp. Show you what you’re missing. Huh, as if that would happen. She was beyond help. As I rolled into the garage, I glimpsed a couple of other neighbours eyeing me and my car. Yep, they knew I was somebody all right. I checked the mirror and smoothed my hair. Eat your heart out, suckers.

What the hell? Sylvia’s car’s not here. Where the hell is she? Damn her! That means supper won’t be on the table any time soon. She knows better than to do that to me. Well, fuck her. I’ll show her. I slammed my head back into the headrest and mentally scanned the pages of my little black book. I’d call Melinda. She’d meet me any time, anywhere. Recently separated women were always lonely and available for a good fuck, and Melinda was fun. I punched in her number on my cell phone, made arrangements, and went into the house to change into something more casual and sexy.

I reached for a bottle of Napa Valley in the fridge. What’s this? A letter. In the fridge? Weird! What’s she up to now? I closed the door slowly, bottle in one hand, letter in the other. Another game? Sylvia did that sometimes, played little games, left notes on special occasions. Look in the broom closet, a note would say, and there I’d find another note, Go look in your sock drawer. I found these games annoying, but fun at the same time, especially when she was standing there with that silly smirk on her face, giggling over my puzzled looks. I couldn’t not go look in the sock drawer. And of course there was always some little thing like a new tie or a new tennis shirt. She was thoughtful in small ways like that, but where the hell was she now?

To my dear, sweet Joel. She did have nice handwriting, had to give her that. I set the envelope down. I’d enjoy my glass of wine first. Prolong the anticipation.

This was going to be good—an evening with Melinda and a present from Sylvia. I rummaged through the rows of casual shirts in my walk-in closet, all neatly pressed and hung up in groups by color. Sylvia knew how I liked things done. A man had to be demanding. Some women needed that. Humph! Not some—all women! I pulled down a pale blue shirt that enhanced my eyes and made my blond hair look even blonder. Melinda says I look like a California surfer boy. She’s so perceptive.

Now for the pants. Maybe the cream chinos. I finished my wine and pulled them on, leaving my soiled clothes on the floor. Sylvia could deal with them. Serve her right for not being here for me.

Okay, now for Sylvia’s treat and then I’m out of here before she gets back and spoils my evening. Now where did I put that dear sweet Joel letter? Heh-heh! This’ll be good.

I danced down the stairs to the kitchen. The letter was waiting for me on the counter. I hummed a little tune and broke the seal. She was really being formal this time, sealing the envelope like that. Stationery from work. That was odd. She must have written this at work. Today? That meant she’d been home already. Been and gone. Maybe out to get some groceries. As the meaning of the words gelled, I sank down onto the bar stool.

Dearest Joel,

This is so hard for me, but honey, I’m leaving you. I can’t explain right now, but in time you’ll understand. Please don’t try to find me. I’m going far away. I won’t be back. I still love you.

Sylvia

Son-of-a-bitch! How dare she do this to me? The wine I had just enjoyed left a sour taste in my mouth.

Chapter 3: Sylvia

The chirping song of sparrows drifted through my window on the fresh morning breeze. This was the beauty of living in California—even December was warm. But why was I waking up in a camper? A crippling wave of misery washed over me as I remembered. Go back home, a timid voice inside me pleaded. I took a shaky breath and tried not to cry. My sensible voice answered. There’s no going back. Focus on the future and make the best of it. I gulped back tears, dragged myself out of the van, and stared vacantly at my surroundings. What if I’ve made the wrong decision? Maybe Joel would have been okay with what was in the letter? Have supported me no matter what? But no. I might as well stop fooling myself.

Mornin’. An elderly couple overflowed their lawn chairs outside their motorhome. Where’re ya headed? the woman asked.

Damn. Why does she have to be so bloody cheerful? I pasted on a smile. Mexico, I think. Baja. Still have to get a few camping supplies though.

Best place to stock up is right on the way. She told me about the San Diego Towne and Country Shopping Center.

Her husband spoke up then. You’ve got Mexican insurance, I hope? At my shake of the head, his eyes went wide. You don’t?

I frowned. What’s the big deal? I bought insurance for my van. Well, American insurance.

Oh, no, girl. You need Mexican insurance too. You don’t want to be caught without it in Mexico. Get it at the border, this side. Mark my words. Don’t be without it.

*****

A Starbuck’s coffee hit the spot. I didn’t normally drink coffee, but I was beyond caring. To hell with all this health stuff. To hell with everything. Might as well live it up. Nothing more to lose.

It turned out the fellow campers were right. The Target store at the mall was a good place to pick up camping equipment and basic toiletries. I bought tarps and rope, a small folding table and chair, and two large water jugs. Also a few tools, kitchenware, sheets, and a first aid kit. And a can of bear spray—for wild animals of the human kind. Who knew what situations I might run into? If I’d had a man with me, I wouldn’t even be thinking like this, but it was going to be just the three of us from now on—me, myself, and I.

At Albertson’s in the same mall, I bought packaged dried foods and boxed juice. Fresh foods couldn’t be taken across the border into Mexico.

Early the next morning, I grabbed one last Starbuck’s coffee and headed south on 94 to Tecate. A few hundred feet from the border, I stopped at a mini mall to change dollars to pesos. At a tiny office I bought Mexican car insurance. I mentally thanked the helpful campers for their advice. Even a fender bender could land a person in jail, they’d said. I might end up alone for the rest of my life, but at least it wouldn’t be in a Mexican jail.

Chapter 4: Kevin

I filed the ragged edges of the newly cut key and handed it to Mrs. Avery. Her smile seemed to come from somewhere deep within; more than a smile of gratitude for the good service she was getting in my hardware store. Although she had to be pushing sixty, she had the glow of someone much younger, as if she had rediscovered her youth. The feeling that crept over me caught me by surprise. Envy.

You’re looking very happy today, Mrs. Avery. You didn’t secretly win the lottery did you?

She laughed. I wish! No such luck. But still, life is good. Blue eyes twinkled above her rosy cheeks.

That’s great. I tried to sound genuinely glad for her as I made change for the ten she handed me. It should work. I pointed to the key. But if it’s stubborn, bring it back and I’ll tune up the edges a little more. Enjoy the rest of your day.

I most certainly will. Have a good one yourself, Kevin.

After she stepped out onto the sidewalk, I could still see her through the display window. A gentleman pushed himself up from where he’d been leaning on the outside wall of the store. His arm went around Mrs. Avery’s waist. He pulled her close and kissed her on the cheek. Although she pushed him away gently and raised her hand to signal stop, the expression on her face said the opposite. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the new key, and held it up between them. Smiling in a naughty way I hadn’t thought her capable of, she pressed the key into his hand. The man took the key and her hand all together and kissed her right there in front of the store with more passion than the streets of our little town of Rosedale, Alberta, had seen in years.

I couldn’t help smiling at their happiness. They were obviously in love. But as I turned to wipe down the key-cutting machine, my moment of joy faded and I retreated deeper than ever into the gloom that now darkened my life.

I brought another box of decorations out from the back room. My supplier had delivered the order late the night before. With Christmas only a month away, it was a particularly large delivery. Stocking the shelves would take most of the day. I was almost wishing I wouldn’t get any more customers for a while so I could get it done, but the bell over the door tinkled steadily.

Roger Goodall wanted an extra string of Christmas lights. George Featherstone needed de-icer for his truck door. Marjorie Walker came into the store yet again for more Christmas wrap.

So many presents under the tree this year. Going through wrapping paper like there’s no tomorrow. She placed two more packages of the colorful paper on the counter.

Lucky kids! All it takes is money. I knew Marjorie wasn’t hurting. Her husband owned the only gas station in town.

Yeah, she agreed. They get whatever they want nowadays, but then, why should they go through hard times just because we did, eh?

I suppose. I was thinking that a little restraint wouldn’t hurt my two kids. Sure, I loved them, but anyone could see they were spoiled.

Roger came back and held the door for Marjorie as she left. He shrugged his shoulders and tipped his head to the side with an embarrassed laugh. Got all the way home and went to put up the string of lights. No stapler. Forgot I broke it last winter trying to force it when it was jammed.

Not to worry. I have the kind you want for the job. Take this pack of staples too—on the house.

Thanks, Kevin! That’s very generous of you. My wife’s been on my case to get these lights up. Her parents are coming from Ontario and she wants everything to look perfect.

Ontario, eh? My dad’s in Ontario too. He’s not coming for Christmas, though. I phone once in a while, but he’s getting really forgetful. Too sick to travel. In a home. Well taken care of though. I didn’t know why I was volunteering so much information.

Do you go out there much to visit him?

Can’t really leave the store. Wife can’t take over. She’s busy with the kids. Has enough to do looking after them. What a bullshitter I was turning into. She was busy all right. Watching stupid soaps. Kids come home from school and join her on the couch. Sit there with a jumbo bag of chips between them.

That’s too bad. Well, at least you can phone him. Wish him merry Christmas.

Who? Uh … oh yeah. Yeah, right. Yeah, I always do. Makes him happy to be remembered. Too bad he doesn’t always remember who’s calling him.

"I’ll be on my way then, Kevin. Thanks